My whole self is laid out before me like hacked flecks of bloody spittle on a white page, forming shapes I misinterpret as my being. I'm like a monkey looking into a mirror for the first time. I'm shocked and enthralled with my image. I pull at my distended lips and twist my face in caricature. I hiss and bark like an idiot, then weep with grief. But I am the mirror. If you look closely you'll note the mirror is empty. Nothing is here in this place, least of all you. I'll cut everything away until eventually I'm reduced to a single sensation, a soundless scream in a muffled void. My scream connotes nothing - not pain, not joy, not loss, not fear, not love, just the raw fact of my existence, eating itself forever.
